


Getaway

by hvanwoong



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Crimes & Criminals, Heist, Jewel heist, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvanwoong/pseuds/hvanwoong
Summary: The chances are one in a million. Two notorious jewel thieves hit the same joint. On the same night.Working together might be the only way that they make it out alive.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 19
Kudos: 57





	Getaway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilyhearted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilyhearted/gifts).



> Hello everyone ^_^ This one is for nikki <3 Thank you for the support and inspo, I hope that you love it!

To anyone passing by, the thief might look to be returning from a late-night workout at the gym.

He wears black sweats with a band of red down the thigh, and an oversized grey hoodie swathing his slender frame. His hood is pulled up against the cool autumn air, casting his face into total shadow with the only light coming from the streetlamps above. In one hand, a gym-bag, almost scraping the sidewalk, in the other an out of date flip phone. He’s texting as he walks, thumbs furious on the basic keypad. No one passing would see the semi-automatic tucked into his waistband, at the small of his back.

The cold press of the metal alloy against his skin is reassuring, familiar. Although the gun is light-weight, it still seems to provide a sturdy foundation to his centre of gravity, like everything revolves around the security that it provides. He never takes it off safety, it’s there for show and for comfort, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t well trained in how to use it.

Yeo Hwanwoong grew up around guns.

He stops to allow a car to pass before crossing the road, keeping his head down. Up ahead, a three-storey building with silver shutters pulled down behind the windows. On the double doors, simple gold plating: safe-deposit. Being here, three metres from the front door, makes it real.

Hwanwoong’s heart rate increases just a little, but it’s less nerves and more anticipation. The adrenaline hasn’t kicked in yet, but it will, and Hwanwoong rides that high like a drug every time. However, he passes by the door, keeps walking to the end of the street before sliding down a side alley.

There, he puts on his mask, simple black, and adjusts his cap under his hood. He sends a text to his driver, Youngjo, and watches his analogue clock tick by. There’s no reason to delay – he doesn’t need time to psyche himself up, not anymore. When he carried out his first heist, with his father and his father’s two best friends, at seventeen, he’d been scared then. He finds that crime is like skydiving. Taking the leap is the scariest thing in the world, but once you’re in freefall there’s nothing but euphoria.

‘Time,’ he says aloud, and then he cuts the rest of the way down the alley, pulling on his gloves as he goes. It opens out onto a quiet backstreet. Passing some industrial dumpsters, he finds the nondescript black-railed fire escape and takes the stairs down, pausing by the grey door. There’s nothing like the locked shutters of the front façade, only a high voltage warning and a padlock. A broken padlock.

He pauses.

‘Huh.’

 _Interesting_.

Hwanwoong looks around, but there’s no sign of anyone working late, no maintenance van parked up on the street or torchlight shining. If this is luck, then it’s bizarre luck. The padlock was secured fine two days ago, when he did his final reconnaissance. It could also be bad luck. Hwanwoong knows the rules, had them drilled into him as a kid: if something isn’t right, pull out. If anything doesn’t go to plan, then the best thing to do is withdraw, try another day. But Hwanwoong isn’t that kind of criminal.

Already, he feels a spike of adrenaline.

He pushes open the door with the toe of his shoe. It creaks the whole way, but does not trip the alarm. This part of the heist wasn’t going to be too difficult – the alarm on the back door is a simple building alarm, not linked up to the police, because this building is not the safe-deposit store. It’s the office-block next door. Hwanwoong could’ve cut the right cables in seconds, silencing the ring. But he doesn’t have to. The alarm never sounds.

Now, unease starts to creep on his skin.

 _Too easy_.

Still, he steps forward. His hand finds the gun at the small of his back, just holding it there for reassurance. His fingers stroke over the familiar ridges. Although his breath comes out steady, his heart starts to hit his chest with more force.

For five weeks, he has been mapping this route. At the end of the basement corridor, there is an elevator shaft, and that elevator shaft runs alongside the underground vault of the safe-deposit store. He pulls his gun from his waistband and touches the trigger; it’s all for show. Step. Step. _Step_. His movements are feather-light, silent. It is a running joke amongst his friends that he would make an excellent cat-burglar for a cartoon: small, graceful, light.

The heavy doors to the elevator shaft are pulled open, and Hwanwoong can hear noise. He stops. Should he turn back?

 _No_.

Adrenaline is hot in his bloodstream now, and Hwanwoong does not have a reputation for being sensible. It’s all over the news, whenever he’s identified at a heist. They don’t know his name, but they know his frame and his mask and every headline describes him as _highly-dangerous_ , not to be approached. A loose cannon. They don’t know that he never pulls the trigger.

One more step and he freezes, gun cocked.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he says. There’s no holding back, no hesitation in consideration of the danger. Whoever this stranger is, they’re fucking with his heist, and Hwanwoong doesn’t let people fuck with his heists.

In the elevator shaft, crouched atop the unmoving roof of the lift itself, electricity cut, is a figure. Beside him is a massive – and he means massive – tool, spinning with a lightning fast whir. Like a bee, it buzzes, and dust kicks up. As the figure turns, Hwanwoong is met with plastic goggles and a smooth, matte black face-covering that moulds to the man’s features, and beneath a beanie, a shock of bleached white hair.

‘Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,’ he mutters. ‘You’re fucking kidding me.’

Kim Geonhak.

Perfect, teacher’s pet Kim Geonhak.

Hwanwoong grits his teeth and lowers his gun an inch.

Geonhak jumps to his feet, but the drill keeps whirring. Without hesitation, he slaps the barrel of Hwanwoong’s gun away with a flat palm and pulls off his goggles. Dark, keen eyes are revealed. Pretty eyes, Hwanwoong’s always thought, when they’ve encountered one another before. Their circles cross over. Hwanwoong’s hacker friend Dongju has worked with Geonhak too. Twice, Hwanwoong has run into him at Keonhee’s bar. ‘Not you!’ snaps Geonhak, voice a hiss.

Heart pounding, Hwanwoong shoves his gun back into his waistband and throws his bag down with a clunk. ‘This isn’t happening, you are _not_ here.’

‘Me?’ Geonhak pushes him in the chest. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, sleek clothes, the sort that would let him fade into the night. Combat boots, a belt with all sorts of hooks and contraptions like he thinks he’s going to be abseiling down to some laser-surrounded diamond. Hwanwoong hates thieves like Geonhak; they take all the fun out of it. ‘Go home. Get out of here, kid.’

‘Kid?’ Hwanwoong seethes.

The drill keeps spinning.

‘Who are you calling a kid?’ he shoves him back and Geonhak grabs his wrists and twists his skin until he yelps and yanks them away. ‘You’re fucking with my heist!’

‘Your heist? I was here first.’ Geonhak turns back to his machinery.

‘I bet I planned it for longer,’ he snaps.

His mind is spinning. What were the chances? What twist of mathematics and fate brought them here, to the same joint, on the same night? He curses his bad luck and sends up a silent prayer of apology to the fates, for whatever he did that offended them so much. As if he isn’t even there, Geonhak has kept working, but Hwanwoong can see that he’s unsettled him. Geonhak’s hands are slightly shaky.

Hwanwoong smirks.

When he looks closer, Hwanwoong recognises the drill model. Diamond tipped. Large enough to make a trio of holes for a slender frame to slip through. Minimal noise, maximum destruction.

‘Go, Hwanwoong,’ Geonhak turns around.

‘No.’

Geonhak’s eyes drift up and down Hwanwoong’s body. ‘I can’t believe you bought a gun. You stupid kid. You’ve screwed us both.’

With a faux yawn, Hwanwoong shrugs. The distinction between burglary and robbery only matters if they get caught, and he never gets caught. ‘I always bring a gun. Does it scare you?’

‘Stupid and armed is a dangerous combination,’ Geonhak mutters, but then he sighs. His voice is muffled by the mask that he wears. Perhaps realising that Hwanwoong isn’t going anywhere, he nods to the bag. ‘What’s in there?’

‘Explosives,’ he says, grinning under his mask. ‘We don’t all need a big drill to prove our masculinity.’

Geonhak shakes his head. ‘You’re so messy, Hwanwoong. It’ll get you caught.’

They both turn when the drill turns quiet, having broken through to open air in the second of three circles drawn on the concrete wall. As if their voices alone will trip the sensors in the vault, they fall silent, so silent that their breath doesn’t even disturb the air. Tension settles between them. Hwanwoong’s estimates it at 28 million dollars’ worth of jewels in those deposit boxes. All that stands between them? Double-key locks, alarm sensors, and the nearest police dispatch.

‘How long have you given yourself in the vault?’

‘Four minutes, thirty-five seconds,’ says Geonhak.

‘How’d you figure that?’ he frowns. His own calculations put the window from the triggering of the alarm to the arrival of the police at four minutes, eighteen seconds. ‘Did you factor in dispatch?’

‘Of course I did. If they travel down East Street, no traffic at this time - ’

Hwanwoong snickers. ‘Didn’t consider bikes, did you? There’s a pedestrianised complex between the dispatch and the building. That would cut their time by seventeen seconds.’

Their eyes meet, the only parts of their faces visible at all. Hwanwoong can see irritation in Geonhak’s gleaming eyes. ‘You’re right,’ he admits. ‘What’s your plan for the boxes?’

‘My father built a pick device for double locks. It’s pretty reliable. You?’

‘Load up the boxes, break into them later.’

‘Risky, you’ll be carrying weight out.’

‘I only take what I need,’ says Geonhak. ‘Not like you.’

Here, again, their reputations differ. Hwanwoong knows that Geonhak will be happy taking his chances on four or five boxes. He’ll have done his research, found the jewellers that hide away their diamonds here, checked the numbers on their safe-deposits and planned out exactly what he’ll take. His time in the vault will be spent finding them. Hwanwoong’s plan? Pick out as many boxes as he can and take his chances that he’ll land on something good. And he never stops. He uses up every second of his allotted time, trusts his planning, to get his hands on everything he can.

‘Look, Geonhak,’ sighs Hwanwoong, ‘we’re both here, we might as well both take what we want.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘Why not?’ he shrugs. ‘I’ve got my getaway, you’ve got yours. We both know how much time we’ve got. Plus, it’ll make one hell of a headline.’

‘Is that all you care about? Your reputation?’

‘No, love, I care about the five million I might make. And my reputation. Crime’s supposed to be fun.’

Geonhak shakes his head, but he doesn't argue. He adjusts his drill, and they both watch as it starts to work at the concrete. Hwanwoong glances up at the empty lift shaft overhead, his stomach flipping over at the sight of the strange, empty space, but then he focuses back on the drill. A glance at his watch. This wasn’t how he planned it, but he can make it work. Geonhak’s drill will arouse less early suspicion than his explosives would have anyway.

Crouching down, Hwanwoong peers into the vault. It’s exactly as he expected it. There’s little variance in safe-deposit vaults. There are no visible sensors, no movie-like lasers, but he knows they’re there, just waiting to be tripped. The thought exhilarates him. Four minutes, give or take. That’s when the heist is the best, in those moments when every split-second counts, every misstep, every fumble. It’s intoxicating, the world’s headiest drug. Hwanwoong loves it.

Geonhak brushes his hand over the concrete to clear the dust, and Hwanwoong leans very close to him, so close that he’s sure Geonhak will be able to feel his breath on the few slithers of exposed skin. ‘Look at us,’ he whispers, ‘working together.’

Geonhak pushes him away with one hand, but Hwanwoong’s sure he sees him shiver and it makes him laugh.

The playfulness stops when the drill finishes its third boring, as they both look reality in the face. Reality is a gap barely wide enough to fit Hwanwoong, and he wonders how Geonhak will squeeze his broad shoulders through. Surely he’s tested it. ‘I need to drop my explosives,’ says Hwanwoong, breaking the silence, ‘I only have the space in my bag.’

Geonhak nods, and watches as Hwanwoong empties out the gear he’d planned on using. It’s a pain, to leave them here – they were expensive – but he reminds himself that the cost is nothing compared to the jewels he’ll find in those boxes.

He’s always loved jewels. He remembers the first time that his father told the story about the engagement ring he’d given his mother, the stolen diamond, whipped straight from an exhibition before the masses ever got to see it. He remembers the sapphires from his father’s office, and how he’d play with them whenever he snuck past the door growing up. He thinks of the round cut emerald that he uses as a paper-weight in his own small apartment. He likes the way they catch the light, and how he can split the world into a thousand dimensions when he looks through a jewel.

It’s about the money, but it’s not just about the money.

‘I’ll go first.’

‘No you won’t.’

They stare at each other, and then Hwanwoong holds out his fist. ‘We’ll rock-paper-scissors it.’

‘God, you’re such a kid,’ Geonhak mutters again, but Hwanwoong just grins and starts the count.

Geonhak wins.

 _Fucker_.

There’s no time left for games, no laughter, when Geonhak extends one hand through the gap and shifts his shoulders into the narrow passage. He fits, just. It’s slow, painstakingly slow, through the two-foot-deep concrete, and when only his legs are showing, Hwanwoong decides to speed up the process by grabbing his around the ankles and giving him a definitive push. Geonhak lets out a grunt of protest, but then hits the floor of the vault with a thud.

Hwanwoong’s heart rate doubles. His hands start to sweat inside his gloves. He hits the timer on his watch.

The alarm screams.

It’s deafeningly loud, even though it would do its job silent. Hwanwoong thinks that it’s to try to disorientate potential thieves. It won’t work on professionals.

He follows Geonhak through the gap with much more ease.

Adrenaline races through his veins like lightning, and his heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its cage against his chest. Mouth dry, forehead damp, he pushes himself further, and meets Geonhak’s eyes. It’s a second of consideration before Geonhak turns and hauls him out by the shoulders of his hoodie.

As soon as Hwanwoong’s knees hit the floor and he scrambles to his feet, all humour is gone.

He launches himself at the nearest deposit boxes.

Geonhak is checking for numbers, but Hwanwoong just pulls free his lock pick and starts to work. The device is good. With his well-practised fingers, nimble and dextrous, it’s seven seconds per box. Metal clangs, but it’s barely loud enough to break through the screeching of the alarm that makes him hunch up his shoulders.

First box. Chains. Two pendants. He throws them without care into his open bag. He spins around, picking at random, and bumps into Geonhak around the steel table that dominates the centre of the room. Panicked by the surprise, he grabs the front of Geonhak’s black jacket to steady himself. Closing his fingers on the material, he feels Geonhak’s heart right through his clothes, pounding. Their breath meets in the air, and then, as if in unison, they shove each other aside.

Second box. _Jackpot_. Loose diamonds, wrapped in velvety black. He empties them into a plastic sleeve before throwing them too.

Third box. Empty. Time wasted.

He does not look over his shoulder to see what Geonhak is doing. It’s not his concern, only his curiosity, and now is not the time to give in to curiosity.

Fourth box. Necklaces with heavy amber pendants.

Hwanwoong’s breathing is shallow. When he was a teenager, his father taught him all of the best breathing exercises to keep oxygen flowing and his heartrate down, and he still puts them into practice. His hands are steady as anything, but there’s sweat dripping down his neck, staining his grey hood black. The gun in his waistband presses into his skin, leaving a deep imprint.

Geonhak passes by his shoulder and Hwanwoong sidesteps him gracefully. It’s almost like a dance, a solo that they’re having to work into a choreography together for the first time.

A thought crosses Hwanwoong’s mind, a question of what it would be like to perform these heists with someone else, the way his family did. He imagines arriving at a place like this with a sidekick (he would be the leader, of course), maybe Geonhak at his shoulder. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek to bring himself back to reality.

Fifth box. Empty.

Sixth box. Gold.

A glance at his watch. He should’ve brought his police radio. He prefers to work without it, though. Listening to them on their way is a distraction. It’s better to trust his timings.

Seventh box. Gems again. He smiles, tipping them into his bag, and then he checks his watch again.

His heart spasms in his chest and he turns to Geonhak. ‘Time to bounce, old man,’ he says, bringing charm back to the proceedings.

Geonhak has stacked his boxes into a stretchy navy bag. With a single curt nod, he throws them back through the gap into the elevator shaft. The shrill screech of the alarm continues. The automatic dead-bolts have cut across the door, but their exit route is safe as ever. This time, Hwanwoong goes first, crawling through the gap and wincing as the cut concrete tears into his skin where his sleeve has shifted up. He pushes harder, and falls through back to the elevator shaft with a clang.

One foot up on the ledge, ready to haul himself out, he stops and glances back.

Geonhak’s shoulders are in the crawlspace, but he’s frozen, groaning with the exertion of cramming himself back through to the other side. Another push, but no luck. Hwanwoong’s blood rushes in his ears, starting to drown out the screaming siren. Their eyes meet again.

‘Hwanwoong – please – ’

He jumps back down from the ledge and runs back across to the space, cursing himself. _Why_?

He grabs Geonhak’s free hand and pulls harder than he has ever pulled in his life, gritting his teeth so tight that his jaw cricks and aches in protest. Seconds, valuable seconds. Adrenaline. Strength. He hauls Geonhak through the space, and his body hits the floor. Hwanwoong falls too, stumbling back against the wall of the shaft. His arm is bleeding, starting to soak his sleeve red. There’s no time to wait for Geonhak to thank him, and he wouldn’t want to listen to it anyway.

He makes his way out of the shaft, tripping on his own shoes, and sprints back down the dark corridor. Part of him is aware of Geonhak running behind him, but it’s less the sound and more the familiar feeling of being chased. It triggers an instinct in him, makes his breath come out in gasps, and he focuses on getting out of the building.

Seconds.

They only have seconds.

His bag bounces on his back.

Out into the autumn night, again. Was it so cold before? Or is the night air hitting his sweat with an icy sort of reaction? He looks up and sees that some of the clouds have cleared, the moon gleaming white overhead. There’s a closed-circuit camera pointing close to the fire escape, and Hwanwoong cannot resist. He turns, just for a second. ‘If we really wanted to make the headlines, we could kiss for the cameras?’ he suggests, an almost manic laugh on his lips.

Geonhak, whose shaped mask has fallen to the side, giving him a lopsided structure to his face, just pushes him aside with a rough hand.

The laugh carries in the street, and then they both whip around at the sound of sirens. Police sirens. They both know what sound.

Hwanwoong hoists his bag higher up his back and then turns to run in the direction of his getaway car. Youngjo will be awaiting, unaware of everything that has happened in the vault. He’s only three paces in that direction, though, when he stops. At the end of the street, a police car has swivelled into view.

_Fuck._

He’s fucked up, big time.

They haven’t come on their bikes first. They haven’t come from the west. They’ve come exactly the way that Geonhak said they would, and they’re going to drive straight past Hwanwoong’s car.

Panic.

Real panic.

He turns back around and watches Geonhak run in the other direction, turning left down the alley that he stood in not so long ago, preparing for the heist. It’s so dark that they won’t have been spotted from the distance of the police car. With no other choice, he runs after him. Geonhak is slowed by his closed boxes, and Hwanwoong starts to catch up fast. He’s always been quick on his feet. His own pulse pounds in his ears, his lungs scream for oxygen as he sprints.

There’s a motorbike, parked on the street.

A motorbike that Hwanwoong passed earlier without a second thought.

It gleams black and silver, the wheels menacingly wide and with a rough tread. Geonhak stands astride it, back at his side, boot on the kickstart lever. _No. No._ Hwanwoong races on, and then he shouts, voice catching on the breeze. ‘Geonhak! Please!’ The words break ragged from his raw throat, as his sneakers slap on the empty road. There’s nowhere else to run.

Geonhak looks over his shoulder. He kicks the bike again, and it sputters into life with a roar. His fingers start to close, and then he stops. Waiting.

Hwanwoong throws himself at the bike, more than runs. One arm around Geonhak’s waist and he’s over the seat, pressing himself as close as he can against his back, and then they jerk into motion.

He’s sure Geonhak will feel his heartbeat through his back. Geonhak’s body is warm, hot even, and as Hwanwoong grasps the material of his jacket over his stomach, he buries his face into his back. The wail of police sirens is everywhere from the next street over, and he presses one ear to Geonhak’s body just to muffle the noise. His hands are shaking at last, vicelike on his rival’s clothes. Geonhak drives fast – of course he drives fast – first down one alley and then another.

The night air whips any of Hwanwoong’s skin that meets it. He becomes aware of the ache in his cut arm. He buries his face deeper into Geonhak’s jacket and clutches his front, only looking up at last when the bike slows.

The sirens sound further away now, but not far enough to relax, not far enough to stop. Hwanwoong looks around in a panic, and then sees the unassuming truck parked far up ahead. The back is open, a narrow ramp left trailing down onto the street. Finally, a smile creeps back onto Hwanwoong’s face.

 _Clever_.

Geonhak drives the bike up the ramp in one expert motion, up into the back of the parked lorry and into near total darkness. There isn’t time for Hwanwoong to glance back over his shoulder at the night before the hatch is lifted shut, and the two doors are bolted with a deafening clunk. Blackness descends over them, but for a minute Hwanwoong does not release his grip on Geonhak’s body.

There are two taps on the side of the truck, then nothing.

‘Seoho,’ whispers Geonhak into the darkness, like Hwanwoong will know what that means, who that is.

‘What do we do now?’ says Hwanwoong, forgetting to keep his voice down with his mind clouded by chaos.

‘Shh.’

Hwanwoong unravels himself and climbs off the bike. His legs are jelly, skin sore from the way the wind whipped his cheeks. He wobbles and finds the wall of the truck to hold himself up. ‘I thought I was done for then,’ he whispers. There’s not even a glimmer of light for his eyes to adjust to, so he talks at where he thinks Geonhak still is, listening to the shuffle of his clothes, the quiet thump as he puts down his bag.

‘You almost were.’

More than anything, Hwanwoong wants water. His throat is so dry that he can barely whisper, every word coming out hoarse. He fumbles for his phone to send a text to Youngjo, but instead he snaps it shut again. There’s no point now. Youngjo will have left at the first sign of the police on their route – that’s their agreement. He crouches down into a squat and pants, trying to bring in air to his burning muscles. ‘How long?’ he whispers.

‘Until Seoho thinks it’s safe to drive us.’ Geonhak’s voice is low, and Hwanwoong realises for the first time how deep it is.

He follows the sound and crosses back to the bike, finding Geonhak’s shoulder with his hand. They stand, what can only be inches apart, in absolute silence. For reassurance, the way he sometimes touches his gun, Hwanwoong finds a grip on Geonhak’s shoulder, fingers digging in quite tight. He doesn’t thank him. Not out loud. Geonhak owed him one anyway. It does cross his mind, though, that if he hadn’t encountered Geonhak in that elevator shaft tonight, then he’d be in the back of a police van by now.

‘You okay?’ whispers Geonhak, and it’s such a strange question that Hwanwoong frowns.

He nods, then remembers that Geonhak can’t see him. ‘Yes. No.’ He doesn’t know why he says it, but it stumbles from his lips. The adrenaline is crashing. His stomach is starting to churn. Sitting here waiting is worse than the way he does it; at least in a getaway car you feel like you’re putting distance between you and the police, you and the scene of the crime.

‘It’s okay, kid,’ says Geonhak, ‘you’re safe here.’

There are only a few years between them, but Geonhak’s relative maturity makes it sound more reassuring. Hwanwoong knows he’s immature by comparison, but that’s how he likes to work. That’s what makes it fun. Running then, though, with nowhere else to turn, that hadn’t been fun. He lets out a shaky breath and pulls off his mask, lowering his hood. ‘Okay.’

He jumps when he feels Geonhak’s hand find his chest with a reassuring tap. ‘Guess we make a better team than we thought,’ he whispers.

Geonhak is taller than Hwanwoong, so he hears his voice from a little above. He tilts his chin up in search, and then there’s a moment in which he feels Geonhak’s breath fan over his face. Geonhak must have taken off his mask too. It only lasts a second, and then Hwanwoong freezes. Geonhak’s lips are on his.

They press gently in a kiss, the sort that you might share with a lover, not a fighter.

Hwanwoong arches towards him automatically, towards the security of his presence, and feels the gun dig into his back. Perhaps it’s the conflicting mess of chemicals in his brain and blood, but Hwanwoong does nothing but lean into it. His lips part, and he lets out an embarrassing sound of relief from his throat as Geonhak’s hand slides down to hold his waist.

They jolt apart at the sound of a siren zooming past the truck, and then silence.

Breathless silence.

Hwanwoong almost falls when the truck rumbles into life and pulls out onto the road, but Geonhak grabs him by the hips to keep him steady. They both stumble to the wall again, grabbing the loose straps left there to bind any cargo. The only cargo in the truck tonight? Two thieves and hopefully, a couple of million dollars’ worth of jewels.

‘You want me to drop you off somewhere?’ says Geonhak.

The truck picks up pace.

Hwanwoong feels dizzy, and he’s not sure if it’s the chemicals or the kiss. ‘Just take me where you’re going,’ he says, unable to think of anything else.

Silence falls again, but the pace of the lorry reassures him that they’re getting somewhere. His body flops against the wall of the truck and he uses only the strength in his bicep to keep himself upright. Thoughts of how close he’d been to getting caught crash around his mind.

‘Hwanwoong?’ Geonhak’s rich voice breaks through the quiet.

‘Yeah?’ his own still sounds shaky, croaky. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel completely breezy, carefree, unafraid. A brush with reality has sobered him, and he wonders when the strange twist in his stomach will wear off.

‘Don’t bring a gun, next time.’

 _Next time_.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)


End file.
